April, 2008

March, 2008

October, 2007

Every night, somewhere between ten in the evening and one in the morning, I walk the dogs around what I call 'the block' (in deference to the US part of the family). It is otherwise known as the 'ceinture': a 500m pathway around our park, circling through woods and shrubs.
In some parts the overhanging trees form a tunnel which can be delightfully shady on hot summer days, then it opens out as the path tracks the Vienne river, about 100m wide at that point: and your eye is taken across the valley
We have some beautiful mature trees: cedars from the Atlas mountains, magnificent horse chestnuts, weeping silver birches, American oaks, a large flowering tulip tree and an enormous copper beech. In my mind I often say thanks to whoever created the landscape.
Tonight as I walked past an ancient, regal cedar, as usual I reached up and felt the always surprising softness of it's needles. Then a funny thing happened - I was not touching the needles, but feeling the tree. I felt as big as the tree - felt it's size and majesty. As I walked on, my attention shifted to the ground beneath my feet, and I became aware of walking across the surface of the earth, rather than treading on the ground.
That's all - just wanted to share a nice feeling. Goodnight.